by T. M. Cromer
She nodded after reading the message and settled back into the pillows. “Excellent.”
He smiled at how quickly she’d taken to electronics. Her fascination with the internet and her smart phone was priceless. He made a mental note to order her a laptop at his first opportunity.
Nerves a little more settled, he closed the spell that let him check up on his family and placed the mirror back in his case. Whatever was eating at him wasn’t the safety of those closest to him. He briefly toyed with the idea of summoning Isis. She’d always been quick to clue him in on problems in the past. Part of him doubted she’d be open to it this time around. He’d royally upset her when he brought Aurora back using the Book of Thoth.
The auction was due to start within the next quarter hour, and Alastair wanted to be parked next to Sebastian Drake when the bidding started for the painting the other man intended to buy. Ryker met Alastair in the sitting room of his suite, and they sent out a feeler for a smaller street, Angel Court, to test the foot traffic in the area. When the coast was clear, they teleported to an out-of-the-way spot and walked the remaining block to Christie’s on King Street.
With a shared grin, they entered the building, and Alister registered for the auction. Paddle in hand, he motioned to Ryker to hang at the back of the room until Drake’s desired acquisition was announced.
“Go time,” Alastair murmured. “Do your best to irritate him, won’t you?”
“I aim to please, Al.”
“Wait, that’s a Caravaggio. That particular painting has been missing since the war.”
“The witches’ war?”
Alastair rolled his eyes. He’d forgotten Ryker cared little for art. “The second world war. A great many works of art went missing from Berlin in May of ’45. Many believed the German soldiers were responsible for the disappearance. Others believe the works were destroyed.” He tilted his chin toward the stage. “If that painting is on the block, it’s possible others will come up to auction in the coming years.”
He shook his head and leaned forward. The woman on the canvas bore a striking resemblance to Sebastian Drake’s mother. Alastair smiled. Quite possibly a relation that the great Master had painted back in his day.
“I believe this particular painting may hold sentimental value for our dear Mr. Drake, Ryker. Let’s go see if we can’t purchase it out from under his nose, shall we?”
“What would something like that be worth at this point in time?”
“Potentially millions, if I had to guess.”
“Where would Drake get that type of money? It’s not as if his family is as well off as yours.”
“I’m not sure, but I would imagine he might use a spell to keep others disinterested. It would be the perfect way to keep others from driving the price up.” He laughed, clapped Ryker on the shoulder, and led him to the row of seats in front of Sebastian. “It’s a good thing that sort of thing can’t influence me.”
He sat a single row and one space to the left of his new nemesis with an elbow propped along the seat back of the neighboring chair. With a wicked smile in Sebastian’s direction, he said, “Fancy seeing you here, Drake.” He nodded to the painting on display. “Isn’t she a beaut? When I heard it had come up for auction, I decided I simply had to own it.”
He imagined he heard Sebastian’s teeth grind together, and he smothered a laugh. Yes, it would be fun needling the young man. Perhaps this pompous puppy would learn a valuable lesson today. In a bout of conscience, he twisted in his seat to make eye contact. “In all seriousness, Drake, I don’t believe you are a bad man at heart. Pursuing me is not a road you wish to go down. Call off your plan and release Jace, then we can sit down over a drink and discuss how to get you what you want.”
For a moment, the other man studied him, judging his earnestness if Alastair had to guess. An emotion similar to regret came and went on Sebastian’s face. “Do your worst, old man.”
“Oh, shit. Now he’s done it,” Ryker muttered.
Alastair gave Sebastian a cold-eyed stare and slowly smiled. He could see alarm edging out the confidence on his face. “Doing my worst is my absolute best ability, boy. Watch and learn.”
The auctioneer started the bidding around two-million Euros.
Alastair cut out those less serious by holding up his paddle and calling out, “Five million.”
“Bloody bugger,” Drake muttered behind him.
He must have indicated a higher amount because the price rose by a good amount.
“Ten million,” Alastair said mildly.
A low, frustrated growl sounded behind him. Again, Drake called an amount.
As the auctioneer took the time to explain more about the painting and artist to the observers, Alastair leaned back. “How deep are your pockets, Drake? I can do this all day.” He flipped up his paddle as the bidding for the painting resumed.
The price jumped up again in Sebastian’s favor.
“Going once…going twice…”
Just as the auctioneer was about to close the bidding, Alastair held up a finger to the man at the podium and turned to Sebastian. “Well?”
Color rose in the young man’s neck, and he glared his rage.
“You don’t have the money I do. Would you put your family in dire straits for a painting, son?”
“Go to hell, Thorne.”
“Very well.” Alastair raised the bid to twenty-two-million Euros as he watched Sebastian’s face. His countenance drained of every ounce of color. With a toss of his paddle on the seat beside Alastair, Sebastian left the auction.
The gavel smacked down, awarding the auction to Alastair. It was a hollow victory. But if he could trade Jace for the coveted Caravaggio, he would, and he’d be damned if Jace wasn’t going to pay him back. One way or another.
Ryker walked outside to wait for Alastair to take care of the details of the sale. He pulled out his lighter and flicked open the lid then closed it again. He repeated the action as he scanned the area around him.
Some yards away, Sebastian Drake leaned back against the building, one foot rested against the wall as he smoked a cigarette. Ryker ambled to within a few feet of where he stood.
Wordlessly, Sebastian offered him a cigarette from the pack he’d pulled from his jacket pocket. Taking the proffered smoke, he lifted it to sniff and closed his eyes. Goddess, he wanted to give in and take a drag. Why shouldn’t he? He’d be divorced soon enough, and any promise he made to GiGi wouldn’t matter then.
“You going to smoke it or make love to it?” Sebastian quipped.
“I’m debating.”
Sebastian inhaled deeply, waited a beat, and grinned. “This is my first in a year. It’s bloody fantastic.”
“I’m beginning to believe you are the devil, Drake. Your mission is to tempt others into the very thing that’s bad for them.”
He laughed and took another pull of his cigarette. “Your friend… tell him I’ll trade Fennell for the painting. But Thorne will need a bigger get if he wants me to back off entirely.”
“Would Victor Salinger be a big enough get?”
Sebastian squinted at the smoke ring he blew. “Possibly.”
“Alastair is no threat to the Council. He just wants to live out his days with Aurora Thorne.” With a sigh, Ryker tucked his cigarette into his breast pocket. “In an odd way, I think he likes you. Don’t make an enemy of him, Drake. He’s not a man whose bad side you wish to be on.”
He scoffed. “I think it’s too late for that.”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll bear it in mind.” Sebastian threw what was left of his cigarette to the ground, rubbed his heel overtop, then bent to retrieve the butt. His attention was caught by something over Ryker’s shoulder. “You’d better go. I would bet your master keeps a short leash on you.”
“He’s my friend, and he inspires the utmost loyalty.”
“I would imagine a friendship like that is rare,” Sebastian conceded. He held out a hand, which Ryker took.
“I know how to reach Thorne. I’ll call soon.”
Ryker held onto the other man’s hand and applied enough pressure to be uncomfortable. “One last word to the wise. Stay away from my wife.”
A slow, wicked grin spread across Sebastian’s face. “I’ll bear that in mind. But maybe you should keep a better watch on her. She’s like steak to a starving man.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her you compared her to a hunk of beef.”
Ryker could hear Drake laugh all the way to his hired vehicle.
Alastair joined Ryker as Sebastian climbed into the rear seat.
“I think you were right, Al. I don’t think he’s evil, just ambitious and disappointed he won’t be handing you over to the Council.”
“It’s too bad Autumn has already decided on her heart’s desire. She’d give that one a run for his money.”
Ryker laughed and scratched his bearded jaw. “Can you imagine those two in the same room? The sparks would definitely fly.”
“Who do we know that’s similar to Autumn in temperament?”
The only other snarky Thorne of equal or greater attitude to that of Autumn was her second-cousin. “Mackenzie?”
“Yes. I do believe Mackenzie would make a great match for Drake, don’t you?” He reached into Ryker’s jacket pocket and removed the cigarette, breaking it in half. “Perhaps after we settle Nash and his lovely assistant, Ryanne, we can find a way to hook up those two.”
“Never mind that you are using the term ‘hook up,’ Al, but do you really believe Mackenzie is going to sit idly by while you plan out her life with Drake?”
“No, and that’s what’s going to be fun.”
“If anyone knew the mighty Alastair Thorne was a romantic at heart, you’d be in big trouble.”
Alastair laughed and tossed the broken cigarette in the trash receptacle. “Let’s go back to Rēafere’s Fortress. I miss Rorie.”
“Shouldn’t we discuss Salinger?”
“One problem at a time, my friend. One problem at a time.”
20
“What does Salinger want most in the world?” Nash asked from his place at the Drakes’ long oak dinner table where Alastair, Ryker, Jace, Sebastian, and Aurora currently congregated. GiGi and Arabella had decided to forego involvement; GiGi for the obvious reason that Ryker was present and Arabella because she preferred to stay away from all the espionage games, according to her.
“My head on a silver platter?” Alastair suggested.
“Exactly.” His son smiled. “Let’s say we’ll give it to him.”
Jace looked up from his dinner only long enough to say, “He’ll smell a trap from ten miles away.” When no one answered, he glanced around again. “What?”
“Didn’t Drake feed you?” Ryker asked, casting a side glance at Sebastian that promised retribution if he found out he hadn’t shown Jace the courtesy he was due.
“No, he did, but I was afraid to trust the food and drink wasn’t drugged.” Jace grimaced and dug back into his meal.
Alastair watched him a second longer and shook his head. He couldn’t say he wouldn’t have been as paranoid in the same situation, because he had. For a brief minute, he was transported back to his days in Zhu Lin’s dungeon. High up in the Himalayas, the nights were bitterly cold. All Alastair had had to keep him company were the hollowed-out eyes and skeletal remains of other witches and warlocks long since dead.
He shuddered.
“Are you all right, darling?”
Aurora’s hand on his arm made him jump.
“Yes, fine.” He shot her a tight smile. “Old ghosts.”
It was a term he always used when he didn’t want her to pry into the darkest part of his life. Although her concern was evident and her irises darkened a shade in her sadness at being unable to exorcise his demons, she nodded her understanding and turned back to the conversation around them.
Threading his fingers with hers, he raised their joined hands and placed a kiss on her knuckles. He leaned close to whisper directly into her ear. “I love you.”
Her happy smile did what all the therapy in the world couldn’t and shook him out of his mood.
“Of course you do, darling. What’s not to love?”
He chuckled and continued to hold her hand as they turned back to the situation that needed their attention.
“The thing he wants most in the world is Alastair,” Jace said after he’d finally ran out of food. “Not for a prisoner, not to kill, but as his mate.”
While it came as no surprise to him, Alastair was amused to see the horrified expressions cross the faces of the room’s occupants. One or two of the others present knew about Victor’s sexual preferences and didn’t care either way. However, the idea of forcing those desires on another was tantamount to rape in their minds—and they would be correct in that regard.
Aurora’s fingers tightened on his, but he dropped her hand and refused to meet her inquiring eyes. They’d never discussed his time in that hellhole, and he didn’t intend to start now. Not with her. He didn’t think he could bear her pity in that regard.
He did, however, meet Sebastian Drake’s speculative gaze. “It was the one thing Zhu Lin continually refused to allow him when it came to my capture and torture.”
“Uncivilized bastards,” Drake muttered. “I had no idea. I apolo—”
He held up a hand, cutting the younger man off. “You have nothing to apologize for, son. You had no way of knowing what went on. You were a mere boy during the war.”
“My father was killed during the witches’ war,” Sebastian said quietly.
“Mine, too.” Alastair dropped his eyes to his Scotch and swirled the amber liquid in his tumbler. “A lot of good lives were lost to that blasted war.” He downed the contents of his glass and slammed it on the table. “But the past is the past. Now we must find a way to work together to make the present a danger-free place to live for our kind.”
“Of course.”
“In-fighting among us won’t achieve that goal. Despite what Beecham has said or promised you.”
Sebastian froze with his drink halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he set the glass down. “You know about Beecham?”
“Yes. I also know he intends to cause an uprising.” He leaned forward to emphasize his point. “That serves no one, son. He’ll cause another war because he hates me. That’s all.”
“I knew he bore you no love, but why should he hate you in particular?” Sebastian wanted to know.
“My mother,” Nash said. “Beecham was engaged to my mom, Trina Gillespie. When Alastair returned from his time in Zhu Lin’s dungeon, he went home to discover Aurora had married Preston Thorne because she believed he had died years earlier. Alastair was half dead and heart-hurt to learn that news.” Nash looked at his father for a long moment, no readable expression on his face. “Uncle Ryker was off doing Goddess knew what, and so my mother nursed Alastair back to health. They had an affair.”
Ryker took up the story. “You can imagine Beecham’s rage upon Trina breaking off the engagement. We still can’t prove it, but we believe he took her life a few years later.”
Nash choked on his wine and whipped his head around to stare at Ryker. “Why didn’t anyone tell me this?”
“Because I swore your uncle to secrecy. You were too young to deal with the added trauma of that type of information. It was enough that you lost your mother,” Alastair said, toying with the butter knife in front of him. “We were unable to prove anything one way or the other, but I haven’t given up searching for Trina’s killer.”
“Why wouldn’t a spell to look into the past work?” Aurora asked. “Like the one Preston and I used to discover Jace was still alive.”
“Ryker and I actually tried that. The magic cloaking the event was too old and too black.”
“Black magic? That doesn’t sound like Beecham,” Sebastian protested.
Alastair’s sardonic gaze connected with Ryker’s before he turned to Drake. �
�It sounds just like the Beecham we know.”
The young man glanced from person to person and seemed to come to a decision. “Then I suggest we forget Victor Salinger for now and go after Beecham. If he truly is as evil as you say, he needs to be stopped.”
A slow smile spread across Alastair’s face. “When that day comes—preferably sooner rather than later—we’ll figure out a way for you to secure Beecham’s place on the Council.”
Sebastian grinned, and his eyes lit with delight. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Later that night as Alastair and Aurora prepared for bed, she brought up the subject of his imprisonment. “Are we ever going to talk about what happened when you were Lin’s prisoner?”
“I’d prefer if we didn’t,” he said mildly as he laid his watch in the timepiece case.
“Alastair.”
He sighed deeply and faced her. His expression was as closed off as she’d ever seen.
“Please talk to me,” she beseeched him. “Maybe it will help with your nightmares.”
His anger manifested in the air as it crackled around them. “What do you want me to say? Hmm? Would you prefer I tell you how Salinger dragged me naked from my cell when Zhu Lin was gone, and how he forced me to stand in the freezing snow? I was unable to warm myself because of a pair of magic-suppressing shackles.”
She could imagine it now. It would have cost him everything to maintain his proud bearing and pretend he wasn’t freezing to death. Pain for him shocked her, locking her in place.
Another ripple of rage altered the energy of the room. “How about the times he pounded me with his fists when I was helpless to do anything about it? If I fought, I paid with the lash upon my back. That Zhu Lin did allow.” Alastair snapped his fingers, and his upper clothing disappeared. He turned his back to her and said, “Ostendo.”
The glamour Alastair had disguising the horrific abuse disappeared. His back was a map of criss-crossed scars, with the skin puckered so tightly in places that she could only imagine the ache it still caused when he moved. She wondered why he’d never had them magically removed.
